[right][h3]Noname - Beck's Skiff, Jundland Wastes[/h3][sup]Interacting with: [@vFear][/sup][/right][hr]

Noname had barely managed to palm one of the cigarras that the droid had offered her before the shooting started. She didn't smoke, but on backwater planets like Tatooine death sticks were always a valuable trading commodity. 

Dancing to the side, Noname smiled beneath her bandana as the familiar whistle of bullets raced past her. In one fluid, well-practiced motion, Noname drew the heavy slugthrower that she carried on her right hip and adopted a low, crouched stance. Sand People were not worth wasting a blaster on. They didn't wear armor thick enough to stop a good slug. 

Drawing a deep breath, Noname waited and peered down her sights until she saw movement in the rock formation. With two gentle pulls of her finger she sent two heavy slugrounds into a large rock that let out a low scream before it fell towards the reddish sand beneath them.

Offering the briefest of nods towards the strange droid Noname squeezed off another round before raising her voice, "Aim for the heart, Tin Man."

The brief statement was more than Noname had ever said to the droid before. Shootouts always brought out the best in her. The smell of cordite and blaster fuel was sweet, oh so sweet. And the thunder of gunfire and shrill screams of bullets as they hurtled towards their targets was an unmatched symphony of sound. Adrenaline surged through her system and Noname felt unabashed joy at the thrill of dancing with death once again. Gunfights gave her life. They allowed her to remember. They gave her peace. They were all that she had. 

She heard a scream next to her and ignored the mercenary that slumped beside cradling what had just been his hand. There was no time to spare for the wounded when there was still shooting to be done. He knew the risks of the job. They all did.

A mercenary who couldn't fight was not worth saving.